


Autospectrophilia

by Anonymous



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Ghost Sex, M/M, Paranormal, Self-Lubrication, wilbur fucks ghostbur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-18 12:54:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29118576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wilbur's curiosity gets the best of him, and he returns to his office for another ghost session. The ghost he meets seems quite familiar.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot/Wilbur Soot
Comments: 10
Kudos: 109
Collections: Anonymous





	Autospectrophilia

**Author's Note:**

> In this universe, the Dream SMP doesn't exist as we know it. It's more like a parallel universe, if you will? The science is kinda whacky.
> 
> In Ghostbur's terms, this plays out in that short period of peace during the rebuilding of L'manberg and before Tommy gets exiled.
> 
> I used the em dash 22 times in this work...sigh.

With a light step, Wilbur skipped over the pavement, humming the tune of a song he was currently working on; he briefly stepped into darkness whenever the distance between two lampposts was too big, and one time he stopped and thought about going back.

Back home, back into bed. Where most people were right now, considering it was the middle of the night.

Not Wilbur though, he couldn’t get his mind off the ghost hunting stream he did a while back. His curiosity had gotten the best of him, and here he was, heading back to his office for another try.

His fingers traced the strap of his backpack, and he checked off the mental list of supplies he wanted to bring.  
The electromagnetic field tester, a thermometer, a notepad, the spirit box of course, as well as a few snacks and a bottle of water just in case the operation was going to take longer than an hour or so.

The videos he had recorded, the recent test stream he had done—he wasn’t satisfied with them. Even though he was firm on being a skeptic, Wilbur believed the paranormal deserved to be treated with respect and an open mind, and those previous attempts were just too silly. Fun, for sure, but if he was the ghost in question, he wouldn’t want to participate.

Therefore he had decided on a solo attempt.

The streets were quiet with hardly any cars passing by at this hour, and it increased Wilbur’s gut feeling of anxiety, curiosity, and optimism.

Upon arriving in his office, Wilbur emptied his backpack and sorted through his equipment. He made a note to write down the temperature—a solid 21°C—and took a sip of water.

Next, he turned on the EMF tester and placed it on his desk. For the appropriate lighting, he only turned his monitor on, leaving it to rest on a background bright enough to be able to see everything he needed to see.

Still, it put him in that spooky mood, and a grin spread to his cheeks in anticipation of how the ghost hunt would go today.

“So. Ghosts and spirits of this building, this office building, I would like to invite you into this room for a chat with me. And with me only. If you recognize me from my previous attempts of communication, I don’t have any friends or viewers with me this time, so if you trust me enough to talk to me, please do so through this box.” With a confident posture, he turned on the spirit box and listened to the white noise hiss.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Far, far away, a certain ghost sat slouched over his many books in a little sewer. Any outsider would say he had fallen asleep, although one could hardly call his state asleep per se, but rather conscious in a dimension that marked the line between the living and the dead.  
It was a complicated business, really, but Ghostbur never cared about that. He didn’t care about this whole ordeal of trying to come back to life, since he quite liked being himself and everyone kept insisting on what a bad person Alivebur had been.

“Just a sign that a ghost is present would be enough”, Ghostbur suddenly heard it echo from somewhere.  
He opened his mouth to say something, ‘Hey, I’m here!’, but nothing came out. He tried getting closer to the voice, but in a dimension with no established spacetime, there was nothing relative to move to. It gave him a headache.

“—by your side—“, a short snippet of some sappy pop song rang out of the box. Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he wrote the words down.  
“Okay! Welcome. I, uh, I want you to know I mean no harm and I genuinely just want to have a conversation. If that’s okay with you, Mister ghost, or Misses ghost, please give me another sign.”

So many voices rushed through Ghostbur’s head. Some were singing, some were talking about traffic, there was an interview with a famous person, and he didn’t understand most of it. Most prominently though, was the voice calling out to ‘Mister ghost’. That wasn’t his name, but he didn’t know how to communicate that if he wasn’t able to speak.  
Finally, he picked up a sentence that he could kind of relate to, and when he opened his mouth, those words came spilling out instead.

“—to which he said, please call me—“, followed by more white noise. Wilbur scribbled it down in haste. That was a success!

“Thank you! Ah, so, my name is Wilbur, would you tell me your name as well so I can properly address you?”

Ghostbur furrowed his brows. Wilbur, that was the name most people used to refer to him. While he liked the name Ghostbur more, to separate himself from Alivebur, he usually responded to it as well. So was this Alivebur he was talking to?

Maybe this was an opportunity to exchange some memories.

However, he doubted that he would find someone saying the name ‘Ghostbur’, so he had to get creative.

The hissing began to ring in Wilbur’s ears. He had made significant progress, but now it had been quiet for a while. Could the ghost not find their name on any of the radio stations?  
Just as he was about to say that he didn’t need a name if the ghost wasn’t comfortable with that, a piano started playing, then strings joined in, it was quite the nice melody.

“I’ll always be a part of you”, a woman’s voice chirped through the box.

“What does this mean? Will you— Can you possess me?”

Ghostbur paused at that. Could he?  
The answer laid in front of him.

“How’d I get to the top? Oh man, I don’t—haha, I don’t even know—“  
An interview snippet, Wilbur noted, maybe a musician or an athlete, he couldn’t tell. He was too nervous to sort the voice to any celebrity he knew.  
The answers made sense, and that was the scary part. He was, maybe, genuinely talking to someone. What were the odds of so many coincidences in a row?

His gaze briefly fell on the EMF tester, which snoozed at zero.

“Ghost, if you can, or if you want to, you can visit me. As far as I know, spirits are able to use electromagnetic energy to materialize and move around, and maybe we’ll be able to talk then.”

Maybe that was the buzzing he felt, Ghostbur thought. It was terrifying, it was unknown, but he was too far to opt out now.

He closed his eyes and breathed, steadily in and out, and with each inhale, he could feel his hairs stand up more. A powerful jolt ran through him, and with that, he fell.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Wilbur had almost given up on the spirit box. A few more times he had asked whether the ghost was angry, or upset, or why they wouldn’t respond, only to be met with more empty roaring.

He leaned back in his chair and took another sip of water. Maybe he’d wrap it up for the night.

The same second he had finished that thought, the display of the EMF tester lit up, accompanied by beeping. In the split of a second, a body formed in front of him before Wilbur could grab the instrument. The person fell onto him with their full weight, and the chair couldn’t handle the impact and the both of them plunged to the ground.

Wilbur heaved himself off the person, and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

Even in the darkness, he could make out his own features. Those were his eyes, his nose, his lips, his cheekbones, his jawline, his hair.

“Hello, I’m Ghostbur!”

Wilbur tumbled backward, not ripping his eyes off his double for a second. Did he summon a ghost version of himself somehow? This wasn’t supposed to be real, was he hallucinating? Did he pass out, was this just a dream? Anything, anything to let this have a normal explanation.

“You look troubled. Have some Blue.”

Ghostbur handed the carbon copy of him some of his precious crystals, now quite excited for the opportunity to speak with who he assumed to be Alivebur.

Wilbur extended a shaky hand, and when their fingers brushed against each other, he felt his heart run wild in his chest.

The dim light from the blue crystals allowed Wilbur to get a closer look at the ghost’s skin. He assumed it to be grey-ish, but wanted to turn on the lights to make sure.

When he turned his back to the ghost for the first time, he would’ve thought it would disappear when he turned around again.

It didn’t, though. It just— He just sat on the ground, blinking at the sudden brightness.

Wilbur took the time to really look at the ghost...bur.

His skin was dead and grey, as were his messy locks. For a stark contrast, a bright yellow wool jumper draped over his slender figure. Around the chest area, Wilbur identified dried blood.  
He figured it was rude to ask a ghost how they died, but once he caught him staring, his curiosity was satiated.

“Oh, this?”, Ghostbur looked down at himself, idly picking at dried crumbs. “It’s from when Phil stabbed me with a sword.”

Wilbur averted his eyes in confusion. That didn’t sound like something Phil would do.

This ghost version of him didn’t look much older than him now. His voice sounded very exhausted, broken even. Yet it was as bright as his sweater, like a constant voice crack.

“The scar is pretty cool!”

Without another warning, Ghostbur shuffled out of his sweater.  
He told the truth, the scar did look impressive.

“Do you wanna touch it?”

Although Wilbur didn’t say yes, he also didn’t say no. Instead he silently lowered himself to the floor in front of Ghostbur, licking his lips and swallowing more than should’ve been necessary.

The ghost guided his hand to his chest and placed it on his heart.

“No heartbeat?”, Wilbur whispered.

“I’m dead, silly.”

Of course. Wilbur felt his cheeks redden as he averted his gaze. He told himself it was out of embarrassment.

Not because the ghost of himself was strangely attractive.

That would be narcissistic. 

“It’s a little weird being the only one naked”, Ghostbur broke the silence. Even he wasn’t sure about his intentions.

Wilbur opened his mouth, but paused, and closed it again as he seemed to think. He took a deep breath, nodded, and unbuttoned his shirt.

Once it found its place on the floor, Ghostbur leaned forward to press his ear against Wilbur’s chest. The latter flinched at the sudden intimacy, but didn’t protest.

“That’s a nice heartbeat.”

Now that wasn’t a compliment you hear every day.

Ghostbur turned his head and slightly nuzzled into the warm skin, closing his eyes. With L’manberg covered in snow and his sewer always damp and clammy, he had missed the warmth of a living being.

He wrapped his arms around the slim torso and felt Wilbur shiver under him. His nervous exhale, it gave Ghostbur… ideas.

He blinked at the pink skin and then placed a careful kiss.

Wilbur could swear he felt his heart jump at the gentle gesture. Even though the ghost’s body was cold and quite literally lifeless, his moves lit a fire inside Wilbur that he couldn’t describe.

“Is this okay?”, Ghostbur breathed, looking up at Wilbur through his eyelashes. Wilbur had never seen a prettier sight.

“...Yeah”, he replied hesitantly.

Ghostbur continued softly kissing his chest, slowly moved to a nipple, and licked over the sensitive bud.

He liked the shy gasp he received as a response, so he continued sucking before moving to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment.

Meanwhile, his fingers ran along the waistband of Wilbur’s jeans, playfully dancing over the fabric until they hovered over his shamefully bulging crotch.

Not that Ghostbur was any less sinful.

He pulled away from Wilbur, gave him a short smile and then got to work on removing the rest of his own clothes.

Wilbur understood the implications, and he was too far in to stop now anyway, so he pulled off his trousers as well, only to pause halfway.

“I don’t—I don’t keep lube in my office.”

“No problem!”, Ghostbur chirped as he turned around and got on all fours. “My body produces, uhm… some kind of plasma.”

That sounded about right, and Wilbur was too desperate to get his dick wet, so he didn’t question it further and delved his fingers into the tight hole.

Indeed he felt some lubrication, which made it simpler to ease his fingers in and out. Ghostbur uttered some high-pitched gasps and short whimpers, as his hole had been neglected for a while—he rarely got horny, after all, and not many people were willing to do it with a ghost anyway.

Once Wilbur deemed him stretched enough, he slowly slipped his cock in. It was one of the coldest things he had stuck his dick into, but weirdly enough, he enjoyed the temperature difference.

Ghostbur had never felt so full—in the best possible way. When Wilbur slowly began thrusting, he felt his walls shape after the warm dick, and he was certain nothing else would satisfy him like this. He lowered his upper body to push his hips more towards the wonderful pleasure, and Wilbur took the hint to pick up the pace, slamming deep into him.

“You’re so good, so tight around my cock, so needy”, Wilbur kept rambling. “My little slut. Say you’re my slut.”

Ghostbur wasn’t too fond of swearing, but he was too horny to think. He wrapped a hand around his dick and furiously pumped. “I’m your slut! I wanna be your little slut, please, please—“ He yelped as a hand firmly hit his ass, surely painting the grey skin in a faint pink.

It was like Wilbur had forgotten he was fucking basically himself, judging by how ruthlessly he pounded into the ghost, murmuring praise and insults at the same time, earning beautiful whimpers and dry sobs.

“Don’t stop”, Ghostbur begged, “I’m so close, please, oh—oh my god, I’m—Ah!”

With his loudest moan yet, Ghostbur came in spurts all over the floor. His hole clenched on Wilbur’s dick and his thighs were shaking, and then—the lights went out.

Wilbur’s EMF tester beeped like crazy, but he could block it out, desperately chasing after his own orgasm.

Ghostbur’s overstimulated gasps pushed him over the edge, and he shot his load deep inside him, accidentally scratching his hips with his tight grip on the cold skin.

When he felt himself stop cumming, Wilbur slowly moved away to turn the lights back on. His legs were still a little shaky from the position, but he managed to get to the switch.

However, once the room was bathed in the bright light again…

He was alone.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
Ghostbur woke up in a sweat, jerking awake with a gasp. A terrible pounding stung through his head, and he fumbled around for some Blue in his clutter. He must’ve had a terrible dream, whatever it was.  
.  
.  
.  
.  
For a second, Wilbur considered chasing after the ghost with the spirit box. But truth be told, he was quite tired—and he couldn’t even be sure if what just happened was real.

He had sat down in his chair in shock and tried to collect his thoughts. A ghost version of himself? And what’d he say—Phil killed him? Was that what his future would look like? He seemed content with his death as well, even showing off the scar.  
That’s right, he took off his sweater!

Wilbur jerked around to check the floor—!  
Nothing but his own clothes. No yellow jumper, no cum stains but a few drops of his own.

So it wasn’t real after all?

He picked up his notepad and reread his own writings.

“2:47

21°C

By your side

Please call me (can’t find name?)

I’ll always be a part of you ???

Possession? —don’t know”

He glanced at the clock. ‘4:22’, he jotted down.

Shifting through the rest of his equipment, his eyes fell on the thermometer.

Surely, a ghostly presence would’ve cooled the room down. That may be a hint on whether or not his experience had really, really happened.

Wilbur’s body was still quite hot from the… exercise, so whilst it felt the same, he wanted to check. He needed to check.

If all other evidence disappeared, this was all he’d have.

With a lick of his lips, he triggered the laser.

‘18°C’.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and Kudos are super appreciated!


End file.
